


Wear Your Heart Closer to Your Sleeve

by AFey



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-17 10:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: Andy fancies herself a skilled writer, so it comes as an unpleasant surprise when she’s unable to find the words to tell Miranda the truth.





	Wear Your Heart Closer to Your Sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been in quite the funk lately and writing in particular hasn’t been a source of joy. Hence my stalled WIPs where events are all set to become happy. 
> 
> Which is how this fic came to be. Though, not nearly as much angst as I was expecting. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Clearly, I do not own these characters.
> 
> Title taken from a line in Frances’ song - It Isn’t Like You.

**I**

Andy fancies herself a skilled writer, so it comes as an unpleasant surprise when she’s unable to find the words to tell Miranda the truth.

The first time she tries, tears are falling down her face as she sits amidst luxury in Paris. Looking around the room, immaculate except for her presence, she knows she doesn’t have the words to explain her actions. No words can capture the intensity of her pain. No words can possibly appease Miranda. What words can explain abandoning her during the most important week of her year?

_Miranda, I’m scared that my ambition will leave me as unhappy as you._

_Miranda, everyone might want to be us, but all I want is you._

There’s no way her former boss will appreciate the sentiment. Miranda Priestly is immune to such folly and there’s no chance that her feelings are returned. All in all, it’s better to leave as the unreliable assistant than one who makes a fool of herself.

Andy scrawls a few words across hotel stationery, gathers her luggage and makes her way to the empty hotel room at the end of the hallway. She pushes the note under the door, praying that Miranda won’t blacklist her. And more importantly, won’t hate her. Andy really couldn’t bear it.

“ _Miranda, I’m sorry.”_

Lame. Cliched. Inadequate.

She has no business regarding herself as a writer.

****** 

A recommendation, laced with La Priestly snark, but somehow still positive deserves a response. Something more than an awkward wave across the street that is ignored. How she wishes Miranda had shown some sign of interest, provided some indication that she was in any way affected by Andy’s presence near Elias-Clarke. Even an impatient tilt of her head and a lecture in the town car would have been preferable to Miranda’s unresponsiveness.

She still puzzles over the recommendation itself. Can’t work out how she is not the idiot in that scenario. Surely only an idiot walks out on Miranda two months shy of being offered the opportunity to work for any magazine? It’s not like Miranda knows the real reason she cut and run in Paris. Perhaps it’s just one more example of Miranda Priestly’s unpredictability.

All the uncertainty hinders an eloquent response. She makes several attempts but dismisses them all as unacceptable.

_Miranda, thank you for not blacklisting me. I know I deserved it._

_Miranda, I appreciate the recommendation. I know it will change my life._

_Miranda, thanks to you I have a new job._

After wasting far too many minutes on achieving the impossible, Andy fires off a quick email. It’s short and honest. But it’s not the whole truth.

_“Dear Miranda, thank you for the recommendation. I know I was a disappointment to you and I’m sorry I left the way I did. You deserved more than that.  I hope one day you’ll forgive me. Andy”_

As she packs up for the day, she hears an annoying ding indicating a new email has arrived. Though she’s happy to at last be working in her chosen field, she’s exhausted and just wants to go home to a quiet and empty apartment. She prays the email won’t sabotage her plan.

Once she spots the sender of the email, she’s grateful to still be sitting. There’s no way the shock would have enabled her to remain standing.  Miranda has replied almost straight away. And that is, of course, not what she expected. Turns out being ignored is far more comfortable than being on the receiving end of a quick response from Miranda. She swallows and despite the dread, opens the email.

“ _I hope so, too.”_

And for that, she has no words.

******

A month passes and Andy resists the temptation to reach out to Miranda again. She suspects if forgiveness is granted it won’t be hurried along by any efforts on her part. Better to give Miranda space and wait for an unlikely decree of absolution. Not that she would ever hear those words from Miranda. She’ll settle for remaining employed and permanently off the editor’s notorious blacklist.

As life will have it, you make a plan and the Gods laugh.

Everyday she keeps her job and continues to be mentored by her editor, she thinks of Miranda. Compares Greg to Miranda and feels guilty when she finds him wanting. He encourages her, never calls her fat, and treats her with respect. But he never inspires her to be more, want more.

Days at the Mirror don’t involve finding ways to spend more time in his presence. Andy doesn’t spend the time he’s out of the office wishing for him to return just so she can smell him, touch him. She doesn’t feel a physical ache at his absence.

And the nights are worse. Alone in her apartment, Andy wonders how she can feel both full of pain and empty inside. It should be impossible. Soon it becomes too much. She loses sleep, disturbed by nightmares with a Parisian backdrop. Andy pursues Miranda across the city, begging for forgiveness and being met with pursed lips at every attempt.

Three nights in a row, dream Miranda glares at her from the catwalk of the Valentino show. “You left me, Andrea. You don’t get to come back.”

The next night, Miranda delivers her town car speech again. When the car arrives at their destination, Andy tries to open the door but Miranda’s gentle grasp stops her. “If you leave me now, that’s it, Andrea. Forever.”

When she wakes in the morning, her mind’s made up. Waiting around for the axe to fall is not her style at all. Living in limbo is not healthy and she needs some certainty.  Needs to know if she is forever exiled from the person she wants most in the world. At least if there’s no chance, she can move on.

After dressing for work, riding the subway and eventually settling at her desk, Andy knows there’s no perfect combination of words to elicit the response she wants from Miranda. So she doesn’t bother.

“ _Miranda. On a scale of 1 - 10. 1 being very unlikely. 10 being very likely. What’s the chance you’ll ever forgive me?”_

The email sent, she sighs and focuses on the day ahead. Turns off the annoying auditory alert letting her know every time a new email has been received.  Does not give in to the temptation to check for Miranda’s reply every time she thinks of the woman.

By the end of a very productive day, she opens her email to find numerous messages, but not the one she was hoping for.  When she checks the unread emails she finds all the issues involved have already been dealt with face-to-face or over the phone. A disappointed sigh on her lips, she reaches for her phone and checks her personal email. Perhaps Doug has sent her details about his upcoming birthday party.

And that’s when she sees it.  Amongst the numerous emails, there is one from an unfamiliar address, though the sender is no mystery: SnowQueen. Subject line: 6. Message:  _If you insist on continuing this topic, please do not clog up my work email with your incessant questions._

Andy smiles. Yes, the tone is dismissive, but an answer has been received. And the use of the personal email account clearly implies that Miranda is receptive to contact.

There’s only one word to describe Andy’s mood. Hopeful.

 ******

 **II**  

Miranda suspects she’s taken leave of her senses. Her personal email address is a closely guarded secret. Only her closest confidants and the malleable people at Google know of its existence. The latter because someone else had the audacity to try and claim the username for themselves. It may be used as an insult by the press, but Miranda rather adores the Snow Queen moniker. It helps to fortify her icy and untouchable image after all.

But here she is, handing out her personal details to an ungrateful former employee. Andrea. The woman is the bane of her existence.

Abandoning her in Paris with the feeblest of apologies. “ _I’m sorry._ ” Like those two words can make up for her transgression. Miranda rewards her hard work with a trip to Paris, and Andrea runs away. It’s unforgivable. Or at least, it should be.

At every turn, she resists the urge to exact revenge. Andrea’s name is not added to the infamous blacklist. Her recommendation is more than fair and completely honest. Andrea is, by far, her biggest disappointment. So much potential, so many wonderful opportunities thrown away. For what? Pride? Anger? Such a waste.

And now Miranda’s opened the door to more communication. It’s completely out of character. She’s renowned for her dislike of inane chatter and yet here she is essentially inviting more questions from Andrea.

Curiosity is her excuse. What else does Andrea want to know? Why does she need Miranda’s forgiveness? Andrea is now a journalist, what more can she possibly want?

Miranda sighs and removes her glasses. People always want something from her. It’s ironic that people consider her a manipulative taker. She spends all day in a constant state of giving. Approval, advice, direction, criticism. So often she gives and yet it’s unappreciated by so many.

No doubt Andrea will prove to be like the others. Once she has this much-needed ‘forgiveness’, there will be something else. As always, Miranda herself is not the prize. Only what she can provide.

******

Two days later Miranda peruses the _Book,_  becoming increasingly frustrated as her eyes are assaulted by mediocrity. Sometimes she wishes she had more than 24 hours in the day.  At least then she’d have the time to do the entire _Book_ herself which would save her eyes from such abuse. Is excellence really so hard to achieve? Is she reaching for the stars?

Thirty minutes later she finishes up but is no happier with her staff. She knows they can do better and it confounds her that what they’ve produced so far is unworthy of appearing in her beloved magazine. By now they really should understand that only the best will do. Clearly, she will need to dispense more guidance and direction to her wayward employees.

With a groan she reaches for her laptop, the pain in her shoulders a reminder of her upcoming massage. At this stage of her life a fortnightly appointment is apparently not sufficient. The new Emily will need to rectify that in the morning.

After she spends fifteen minutes devouring the latest business news, she finally succumbs to the urge she’s been fighting all day. With so few people in possession of her account details, she knows the only email she’s waiting for is Andrea’s. She doesn’t want to think about the reasons why the presence of an email will be the highlight of her day. 

At first glance, she’s disappointed. An email from Nigel, another from Donatella and one confirming the dispatch of gifts for her daughters.  But nothing from ASachs. When she looks closer though, Miranda notices an email from an unknown sender. Previously unknown by that username perhaps, but definitely recognisable.  

Sender: WaywardAssistant. Subject line: Not satisfied with 6. It’s all she can do not to burst out laughing. Even alone she has an image to maintain. A subtle smirk will have to do. She clicks on the email and devours its content.

_“Miranda, how can I earn your forgiveness? Should I stage a coup to overthrow the Murdoch empire? Complete all of the twins’ science projects from now until graduation? Write an article about the superiority of American fashion magazines compared to French? Seriously, is there anything I can do? Andy.”_

Miranda rolls her eyes. Such drama. Really, there’s only one thing Andrea has to do to earn her forgiveness. The woman clearly has no idea how close she already is to gaining the impossible. Once again, Miranda will have to provide the necessary guidance. 

 _“Andrea,_ _you_ _may deliver Mr Murdoch the fate he deserves or you can simply explain why you felt the need to walk out on your professional obligations during the most important week of my life. Never let it be said that I don’t provide options for atonement.”_

That’s it. How hard can it be for Andrea to tell her the truth? Whatever it is, Miranda’s certain she’s heard worse.

****** 

_“Apparently Lachlan Murdoch is getting restless. Perhaps he would be amenable to ousting his father? Maybe the seven-year itch will strike and he’ll forsake Sarah and be susceptible to my powers of seduction? I think all that would be easier to achieve than telling you the truth, Miranda. I doubt the truth would set me free or earn your forgiveness. More like banishment from the East Coast.”_

Though she will never admit it, there are moments when Miranda regrets the fierceness of her reputation. What does Andrea expect her to do? Beg for honesty? Really, what can be so bad that she’ll be tempted to plot a dramatic downfall? Miranda is immune to criticism, a fact of which Andrea should be well aware.  

“ _Andrea, if fear of retribution is holding you back, let me reassure you. If I wanted to destroy your career, you would not be spending your time writing articles about striking sanitation workers. You would be fetching coffee and running errands at some dreadful publication like Vogue. And in case you were wondering, yes, the stories about Ms Wintour are true.”_

And that’s as close as she’ll get to pushing for the truth. Either Andrea is brave enough to be honest or she is not the woman Miranda believes her to be. With a little bit of patience, perhaps Miranda will receive an answer that explains why she was forced to watch Andrea flounce away in couture.

Ambushed by a yawn, Miranda switches off her laptop and places it on the bed. It’s a terrible habit, using her computer in bed instead of remaining in her study. But Stephen is no longer around to complain so she does what she wants.  

Miranda rolls onto her side, reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. Nestling into the comfort of her luxurious sheets, she does her best to banish thoughts of her last husband.  Instead, she thinks about her plans for the weekend. A quiet one since the girls are with their father. Soon she drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

Miranda doesn’t contemplate why the first thing she does the next morning is reach for her laptop. She desperately needs to visit the bathroom. Instead, she impatiently waits for the computer to start up so she can check her email. Pathetic, really.

Her excitement at seeing the email from Andrea lasts until she reads the words. Well, she did request honesty. She can’t really complain when she receives exactly that. But who knew the truth would be so heartfelt. So shocking. It’s most unexpected.

******

  **III**

Andy sits on her lumpy couch, sipping coffee, cursing her actions from the night before. Emails sent in the early hours of the morning should be outlawed. No one makes sense after midnight. She can’t even blame alcohol. Stone cold sober and she sends Miranda an honest email. No good can come from her confession.

She places the empty cup on the coffee table and picks up her laptop. Perhaps when she re-reads the email it won’t be as bad as she recalls. 

_“I’ve tried countless times to find the words to explain myself. The truth can be elusive. It hides behind rationalisations and fears. It exposes you, leaves you vulnerable. At least this truth does. So here it is._

_I love you, Miranda. But it terrifies me. Being around you can be exhausting. Not because of your moods, or your demands. It’s because if you’re anywhere near me, all I see, all I can think about it, is you. That’s how I anticipated your needs. Runway is your priority. And you were mine._

_By the time we were in Paris, I realised I’d stopped thinking about what I wanted out of life. All I could think about was what you wanted and needed. What you would enjoy, what might make you happy._

_I admire your ambition, but not the isolation it seems to have brought you. I want a lot out of life, but I don’t want to end up unhappy and alone. If I stayed at Runway any longer that’s how I imagined my life going._

_I understand if you don’t reply. I doubt this was the honesty you were expecting._

_Andy”_

After pushing the laptop onto the couch, Andy buries her head under a cushion. Regret and embarrassment battle for dominance. She can’t decide which one she feels the most and in the end it doesn’t really matter. Somehow she’s composed the perfect email to keep Miranda Priestly away forever.  

 ******

Two weeks pass and naturally there’s no reply from Miranda. It’s not the slightest bit surprising. She’s convinced that when Miranda asked for honesty she wasn’t anticipating a nauseating dose of true love confessions. Still, it’s done now. She told the truth and was greeted with silence. She needs to move on and forget she ever knew a woman named Miranda Priestly.

Of course life conspires to make that impossible. Page Six, which she really shouldn’t be reading, provides a constant stream of gossip. Stephen is parading around New York with a blonde half his age and speculation is rife. Sleazy headlines allude to Snow Queen frigidity as the reason for their divorce. It’s a popular opinion but Andy doubts its validity. A woman who moves like Miranda can’t possibly be unresponsive in bed. Not that she’ll ever get the opportunity to test her theory.

Another week goes by, and Andy manages not to torture herself with incessant thoughts of Miranda. Sometimes an entire hour goes by without her thinking about what Miranda might be doing. Progress, indeed. By the weekend she’s feeling optimistic. Maybe there is life after being enraptured by the Queen of Fashion. Which, naturally, is when she finally receives the long-awaited email.

Subject : 10. Message : _Andrea, nobody really surprises me. But it seems you are my eternal exception. Your words were, I admit, rather shocking. However, I recognise the truth when it presents itself. I must warn you. I will do my best to always consider your needs, though it must be said, I will most likely fail. You see, it seems I have to tendency to disappoint anyone who dares to love me. To love me is to be inevitably disappointed. In other words, ‘here be dragons’. Proceed with caution.”_

Andy smiles, and it’s a few moments before she realises she’s crying. Once more, she’s crying over Miranda. At least this time, the tears are due to extreme happiness. Miranda is willing to try and despite her warning, Andy has never been one to shy away from a challenge. 

******

Weeks later Andy realises that wooing her former boss is a task of almost Herculean proportions. So used to maintaining an aloof presence, Miranda is not one to just let down the drawbridge after a declaration of interest. Andy focuses on proving herself and chooses her words carefully all in an attempt to convince Miranda that she'll never run away again. That she is worth the risk.

Gradually emails evolve into phone conversations conducted late at night. They both retire to their respective beds and discuss the events of the day. Miranda complains about her staff (nothing’s changed), boasts about the twins (as expected), while Andy amuses Miranda with her workplace escapades (still clumsy) and asks for advice (sometimes just to hear Miranda’s voice).

Inevitably, Andy falls asleep first.  Half Miranda’s age and with about half the stamina. She’d feel embarrassed except that drifting off to the quiet words of Miranda Priestly is the very best part of her day.

Months go by and Andy worries that perhaps Miranda will never be ready to move past the safe confines of their virtual relationship. Her invitations to brunch or dinner are politely declined with regret. A business appointment, recital or sports game are used as an excuse for not being available. Andy wonders if Miranda is embarrassed by the idea of being seen with her in public.

“Of course not,” Miranda scoffs one night when she gathers the courage to ask for an explanation. It’s late and by Andy’s estimate this must be close to their 30th phone call.

“It’s been months, Miranda. I want to see you. Is that so hard to understand?”

The silence that follows makes Andy regret ever raising the subject.

“Don’t you understand that I’m far more palatable over email or on the phone?” Miranda sighs. “In person I will disappoint you. Upset you. This way you’re safe.”

“You mean you’re safe,” Andy replies quietly. “Miranda, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let you scare me away.”

More silence greets her and Andy waits for the response, whatever it may be. At the sound of Miranda clearing her throat, Andy clutches the sheet with her spare hand and braces herself.

“Very well, Andrea. I’m free next Saturday. Let me know what you’d like to do.”

“Okay,” Andy says with a smile so broad she’s sure Miranda can feel it miles away in her townhouse.

“I hope that happiness survives our date.”

“Of course it will,” Andy declares, ever the optimist.

Ten minutes later, Andy hangs up the phone, delighted to have outlasted Miranda for once.

“A date with _the_  Miranda Priestly,” she says out loud just to see how it sounds.  A perfect combination of words is her verdict.

******

**IV**

Mirandacurses in her head, not one for using profanity in public. The things she will endure for Andrea.

A New York tourist hotspot. Check.

An attempt to re-create cliched love scenes from sentimental Hollywood movies. Check.

A stubborn demand preventing Miranda from booking out the entire observation deck.  Check.

A crowded elevator, with poorly-attired humans. Check.  

To make matters worse, one of the ordinary humans seems particularly obtuse given his complete obliviousness to her death glares. The audacity of standing in her personal space. That her personal space is far larger than anyone else’s is beside the point.

She lets out a quiet sigh.

For Andrea she will tolerate all of this and more. After Miranda’s initial reluctance to meet in public it became obvious that complying with Andrea’s wishes was the only way to assuage her fears. Which is why she is now heading to the top of the Empire State Building for their first date.

The doors open and she exits the elevator with graceful steps, belying her desperation to breathe fresh air into her lungs. At first glance, she fails to spot Andrea. All she sees and hears are gobsmacked tourists exclaiming at the spectacular views. Right now, she finds the view rather lacking.

Just as the doubt creeps in, the traitorous thought that maybe Andrea has changed her mind and decided that Miranda is just not worth it, she notices a movement from the corner of her eye. Once she takes in the sight, she becomes aware of her breathing. Shallow and quick. It’s moments before it returns to normal.

As Andrea walks towards her, Miranda gazes in wonder and suspects that for once, her true thoughts can be easily interpreted by anyone who cares to look. Thoughts, so very wicked, as she contemplates the cut of Andrea’s suit. Appreciative thoughts, as she realises the clothing is a feminised version of that worn by Cary Grant at the end of a certain movie. Fond thoughts as she realises just how much effort has been put into turning a cliched date into something they’ll both remember for years.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, breaking her rule as Andrea moves closer and Miranda notices the desire in her eyes. “Fuck,” she repeats as she finally accepts that whatever it is between them has the potential to upheave her legendary control.

“Miranda,” says Andrea, and places a kiss on her check. “You look perfect.”

She smiles and places a hand on Andrea’s waist. No one says her name quite like this woman. Like her name is precious and her presence is always welcome.

“So do you,” she replies. She’s never been more sincere.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Andrea says, removing Miranda’s hand and squeezing it gently. “I know it’s not a place you’d normally visit. The truth is, this is my first time.”

“Really?” Miranda asks in surprise, as she pulls Andrea to the edge of the observation deck. “You’ve been in New York for over a year and you’ve never visited?”

“No,” comes the reply as they both look out over the sprawling city. “I’ve never really found the time.” 

Miranda bites her lip, remembering just how busy Andrea was when she worked at _Runway_. 

“And I wanted to share it with someone really special,” she continues, moving closer to Miranda’s side.

Miranda lets out a small gasp as their bodies make contact and she feels a frisson of desire. 

“I’m honoured,” she replies, a small smile appearing on her face.

“The honour’s all mine,” Andrea insists as she looks at Miranda.

As Andrea’s gaze fixates on her lips, Miranda murmurs, “Let’s call it a tie.”  

‘No, the honour’s all mine,’ she thinks moments later, as Andrea’s lips meet hers. Definitely, all hers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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